Roy Mustang: A Modern MacBeth
by Mayumi Takanashi
Summary: A Shakespearean twist on Full Metal Alchemist! When three Homunculi alert Mustang of his future as the Fuhrer of the nation, he begins a quest for power. Nothing will be able to stop this madman on his way to the top...even if he must commit murder.
1. Act I

Roy Mustang: A Modern MacBeth

By Mayumi Takanashi

Act I

Shadows were cast throughout the dark forest as the storm clouds rolled in from the East. The moon hung suspended behind fog, and no stars were visible in the night sky. A flash of lighting revealed the figures of three beings, soon followed by thunder.

"Well, Envy? What news did Sloth have?" asked the first being, her voice like that of black silk. Smooth, yet wicked.

"She said to start the plan in motion tomorrow evening, when he's on his way back from that rebellion in Ishbal," said the second with a tone of malevolence.

"Ooh, Lust, can I eat him?" inquired the third with a sinful hunger in his expression.

"Gluttony, that would defeat the whole purpose," said Lust. "We need the Flame Alchemist for Sloth's plan."

"His ambition will be his downfall," Envy whispered. "I just wish we were the ones in control instead of the little…"

"We won't question Sloth. Obviously this is the course fate has chosen to go. We may as well have a little fun along the way," replied Lust quietly.

"I've never heard you speak of fate before, Lust. I didn't think you were the type to believe in all that crap," Envy chuckled.

"It has to be fate. That's why we're the way we are, isn't it? I refuse to think that it is merely coincidence."

"You sound weak, Lust, when you talk like that," Envy shot.

Another bolt of lightning struck through the misty air, followed with the mighty call of thunder.

"So, where shall we meet tomorrow?" interrupted Gluttony with a maniacal laugh.

"About fifteen miles outside of Lior, alongside the road," Envy explained. "They'll pass that way on their way back to Central."

"Until tomorrow evening, then," spoke Lust maliciously.

* * *

Two men rode in a small, black car along a dirt road. Trees covered both sides of the path, disappearing into pitch black forest. The driver was dressed in a white button shirt with dark pants. His hair was black, as well as his goatee, and the worry in his amber eyes was disguised by a pair of classy frames. 

His companion was in a navy army uniform, yet he had the coat unbuttoned. His black hair was tousled and hung over his dark eyes, which were closed at the moment. Relaxing his head against the back of the seat, he looked as though he'd just been through a trying ordeal.

Without moving from his resting state, the soldier began to speak for the first time since they'd begun their journey.

"Hey, Maes, thanks for coming to get me," he said softly.

"No problem, Roy," replied the driver casually. "When Armstrong sent me the letter of how screwed up you were, I just had to come to your rescue!"

A vein appeared on Roy's forehead, and his eyes shot open. He sat up quickly and whipped around to face Maes Hughes.

"I'm glad you find this amusing!" shouted Roy. "If only you'd seen all the bloodshed that I saw! You couldn't possibly comprehend what I've been through in Ishbal, you…"

"Now calm down, Roy," Hughes sighed. "I took a desk job for a reason. No one should have to go through what you just did. Do you know you were in bed for a month before I could take you home? You were so messed up that you couldn't even stand. We had to stay behind the rest of the army while you recovered. Riza's been calling every day to check on you. She'll be relieved when you get home."

Silence befell the car. Roy's palms were still clenched together in his lap, but the rest of his body was beginning to relax again.

"Get some rest, Roy. You're still not in great health."

Suddenly Maes slammed on the breaks, and the car lurched forward as it came to a stop. His hands were clutching the steering wheel tightly, but Roy had hit his head on the roof.

"Ow! You nearly killed us!" bellowed Roy angrily. "Why the hell did you stop?"

He looked out the windshield and saw three figures staring back through the glass. They stood in the middle of the trail, without any indication of being affected by the near-accident. Maes rolled down the window and leaned out. Roy did the same.

"What are you people doing out here at this hour?" called Hughes.

"We could ask you two the same thing," replied the first coolly, with a smooth tone in her voice.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's just that you're so far away from the nearest town in the middle of nowhere. A young woman like yourself shouldn't be hanging out here where crooks and thieves are on the lookout for someone as hot as you!"

"Spare me the flattery. That's not what we're here for."

"Actually, we come as the bearers of good news," said the second.

"Lucky us!" exclaimed the squat, rotund third with glee.

The one called Envy pointed a finger at Roy.

"I've been sent to tell you that as soon as you return to Central, you're getting promoted. To the rank of Colonel."

"And soon afterwards, you'll even become the Fuhrer," smirked Lust.

Roy and Maes glanced at each other in bafflement.

"Oh, there's more!" sang Gluttony delightedly.

"You there, driver," Envy called. "Your kids will be Fuhrers, but you're gonna miss out."

"What do you mean?" Roy roared at them. But they merely cackled and disappeared into the forest.

Mustang opened the door and was about to rush after them.

"Roy, stop! It's no use," warned Hughes.

He slammed the door shut in rage and slumped back on the seat.

"So what was all that about?" Maes wondered aloud. "Do you think they were telling the truth? If so, how could they possibly know?"

Roy didn't respond. Instead he stared out the window into the misty forest. How could he become Fuhrer, his life-long desire? King Bradley held that position now. The only way he could take over was if Bradley died somehow. But he was still young and healthy. The only way to get him out of the way was…no, he couldn't. He'd seen too much of it in Ishbal, and when he actually had to commit murder it drove him mad. But the ultimate prize lay before him within his grasp. All he had to do was fire a gun. Just one shot and he could reach the top and have all the power in the world. But was it worth another's life?

Maes was right. Ishbal really had screwed him over.

* * *

The colossal doors to Central's Ballroom opened into the magnificent sparkle of the evening's event. All of the attendees wore tailored tuxedoes or floating gowns of all colors. The room was decked in gold trim, and chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. This was a celebration of the bloodshed and carnage of the Ishbal Rebellion. A celebration of the State's success in slaughtering thousands. 

"The Major, Roy Mustang!"

The Flame Alchemist entered the room at the announcement of his title and name, without smile and without flair. He wore a solid black tuxedo, and kept nervously fingering his State Alchemist watch in his pocket. His step was light and urgent, and he immediately crossed over the marble floor to Fuhrer Bradley.

"Ah, Mr. Mustang! What a pleasure to see you this evening," greeted the Fuhrer pleasantly.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" replied Roy with a small bow.

"That's right, I have an announcement to make," exclaimed the Fuhrer. He crossed his way over to the small stage where the string quintet performed.

"Excuse me, everyone!" called Bradley into the microphone. "Good, now I have a few honors to award in the recent light of our outstanding victory in Ishbal."

The audience applauded and cheered.

"Yes, first I would like to personally promote Major Roy Mustang two rankings to the position of Colonel. Congratulations!"

Mustang, in well-disguised awe, approached the stage and allowed the Fuhrer to decorate his tuxedo with a new badge.

"Thank you, sir," he spoke with another bow. He spun around and stepped off into the audience as they clapped. Maes hurried up to Roy and pulled him away into the corner.

"What they said came true!" Hughes whispered quickly. "What does this mean? Who were they?"

"I don't know," replied Roy, who was still in shock, "but I don't think we've seen the last of them."

The Fuhrer began to speak again.

"And my next announcement is even more exciting! As many of you may know, I have recently taken in two boys by the names of Russell and Fletcher Tringham. They are like sons to me, which is why I name Russell, the first born, as my heir to the position of Fuhrer."

Another round of applause came as all looked over to a young teenager standing near the stage. He was frozen with surprise as everyone began to walk over and congratulate him.

Maes and Roy glanced back at each other in bafflement.

"Maybe they didn't get everything right," Maes shrugged. "It's still creepy how accurate they were about the Colonel situation, but they must be off on this one."

"Perhaps…" Roy muttered distractedly. He allowed himself to get lost in thought. Just a pull of the trigger, and he'd be at the top...

* * *

Riza Hawkeye, a woman with short blond hair and intense eyes, sat back in her apartment on the other end of Central. With trembling hands she replaced the letter she'd been pouring over back into the envelope in which it arrived. It was from her close partner Roy Mustang, and its contents illustrated a suspicious meeting with a mysterious group of people. Roy claimed that they described how he would soon become Colonel, and then continue on to become the Fuhrer. It was his deepest desire, and she had vowed to use any means to help him there. 

However, she had no idea how he planned on actually obtaining the highest rank the nation had to offer. She knew that extreme measures would have to be taken in order to achieve this goal. But the only problem was figuring out those measures.

Things could only get better from here.

At that moment, the sound of the apartment door reached Riza's acute ears. It was Roy, who she hadn't seen in weeks.

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed in relief. "I'm so glad you're alright."

"I've just been promoted to Colonel," he replied without any other greeting whatsoever. He had just arrived back from the ball and still wore his tuxedo. However, he'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat. His disheveled hair made him look unkempt and somewhat weary. The dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep did not help his appearance in any way either.

"How is that possible?" whispered Hawkeye in shock. "They must've had it right. Do you think they're also exact with the…."

"I don't know," Roy cut in abruptly.

"What are you going to do?" she asked fearfully.

Roy sank onto her couch, his head buried in his hands. After a few silent moments, his voice pierced the hush like a blade.

"I've got a plan."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet, anyways. Just promise to trust me."

"I already do."

* * *

Roy sat in his office at Central Headquarters at the desk. His chair was facing the window into the vivid evening sunset, through which he stared idly. In his hands was a pistol, which he fingered in anxiety. 

Hawkeye quietly opened the door and slipped into the empty office.

"Sir, Fuhrer Bradley has just arrived from Eastern Headquarters. You asked me to tell you as soon as he arrived."

"Yes, thank you." He kept staring out the window, his back to Riza.

"Sir, are you feeling alright?" she asked kindly. "You've been really distant lately, and I'm worried about you. Tell me what's wrong."

Roy leapt from his chair and crossed over to Riza.

"I can't do it!"

"Do what, sir?"

"My plan."

He began to pace the floor.

"Sir, this is what you've been dreaming of. Don't let those aspirations burn to ash! You've got what it takes to be Fuhrer."

"But.…"

"No! I will not let you give this up. I _will_ not!"

Roy stood still and let out a deep sigh.

"You're right. The plan will be set into motion tonight."

"Just be careful. Good luck, sir."


	2. Act II

Roy Mustang: A Modern MacBeth

By Mayumi Takanashi

Act II

Night had fallen, enveloping Central Headquarters in shadow. The air was still, and a thick fog hung low over the town. Roy Mustang, dressed in his black cloak, headed swiftly down one of the building's many corridors. He was on edge and also began to rethink his plan. But Riza's voice was in his head, echoing with her stubborn resolve to never back down. Once again he decided to persevere.

Mustang rounded the corner, the pale moonlight being his only source of illumination down this dark path of sin.

"Ow!" he cried as he ran into a wall. Roy fell to the floor, his cloak billowing out around him. Looking up he realized that it was not a wall, but a human being.

"Oh, God!" he gasped in fright. Had he been discovered?

"Relax, buddy, it's just me," coaxed the voice of Maes Huges, stepping into the dim light streaming through the window.

Roy hastily scrambled up and began to continue on his way.

"Look, Roy, I was just coming to talk to you about something," Maes said in an uncomfortable hush. "Those people we came across in the woods…"

"Can we talk about this later?" Roy shot with impatience.

"What's up with you? And why are you wearing your cloak? It's the middle of the night. Where in the world could you be headed to at this hour?"

"Just leave me, alright?" Roy was getting hot-headed. He was known for usually keeping his cool, but anxiety was resting too much on his shoulders at the moment.

"Fine, man, whatever you want, _Colonel _Mustang."

Maes put a stress on the word _Colonel_, then turned back and headed to the dorms. Roy watched him go without feeling much guilt about the way he'd just spoken to one of his closest friends. He couldn't worry about that at the present moment. There were more important things to be concerned about.

Looking ahead to his destination, he thought he saw a gun a little ways down the hall. He approached it cautiously, without taking his eyes off of it. It was floating at arm's length in midair, taunting him.

"You look so real," he whispered to it. It seemed to glint in the moonbeam, which revealed bloody stains on the barrel. Roy tried to reach for it and hold it, but he couldn't seem to grab it.

"I'm going crazy," he spoke softly, not tearing his eyes away from it. This had to be taken care of before he completely lost his mind.

And with that thought driving him forward, he made his way toward the room of Fuhrer Bradley, where he would end his life in the midst of the realm of dreams.

* * *

Riza sat in the office of Colonel Roy Mustang, awaiting his return in unendurable anxiety. Although she had no idea what the plan was, she knew that it involved some sort of sacrifice on his part. But in her heart she knew that it would mean nothing when he finally reached his dream. She would do anything to help him get there, even if it meant pushing him over boundaries that he'd never cross on his own. That was her goal: to be there when he felt alone.

The door of the office creaked open, revealing a hunched form in the doorway. Lightning stuck outside as Roy stumbled into the room in a staggering stupor.

"Oh, my God!" gasped Riza as she rushed to assist him into his chair behind the oak desk. He slumped in the leather seat and held his head in his bloodied hands. Riza spotted a silver handgun in his lap, stained with blood.

"What happened? Talk to me!" she demanded in a chocked whisper. "What have you done?"

"I killed him. I killed Bradley. I killed the Fuhrer…" Roy continued to chant under his breath. His voice was almost trancelike. It seemed that the weight of the situation had not quite caught up to him as of yet.

"We need to hide these," she murmured to him, but Roy didn't seem to hear her. He just continued to mutter his deed dazedly, his eyes unfocused and unblinking. His skin was pale, and his hair messed.

Riza grabbed the gun from his lap and flinched as the blood seeped between her fingers. Slipping it into her uniform, she placed it safely to her chest. She dashed down the hallway and quietly slid into one of the soldier's barracks. With the skill of an elusive assassin, she placed the bloody gun on one of the pillows next to a dozing cadet. There was a secret beer party that evening, and all the military attendees were sleeping it off. Nothing could wake them now except for an atomic bomb blast.

She hastily made her way back to Roy's office, where he slouched in the desk chair. He had regained his composure by now, and watched as Riza silently shut the door. Blood had seeped through her uniform and left a crimson stain on her breast.

"It's in one of the barracks, so that should lead them off our trail."

"You shouldn't have involved yourself, Hawkeye."

"I had no choice. I was already involved from the moment I promised to help you in any way I can. Even if it means covering up for murder."

"Thanks."

"But why? Why did you kill him?"

"This was the only way. We need to get rid of him before we can have any hope of reaching the top."

At that moment, a church bell sounded. The pair jumped at the sudden sound.

"Come, let's wash this blood off of our hands," Roy said, snapping to alert.

"How did you get blood on the gun in the first place?" Riza asked with concern.

"I made the mistake of touching his wound after I shot him," he replied, unable to reach her questioning gaze.

"I see," she whispered. There was a moment of stillness as they both stood frozen in reflection.

It was Roy Mustang who broke the silence.

"Let's wash away this blood."

* * *

"The Fullmetal Alchemist has arrived, sir," the messenger told Roy Mustang, who sat pensively in his office. He hadn't been able to sleep that night despite the fact that he was ready to collapse from fatigue. It was still really early in the morning, so most of the soldiers were not awake yet. No one had discovered the body…yet.

"Good. Send him in," replied Mustang.

A few moments later, the figure of Edward Elric stepped through the doorway, followed by the towering stature of Alphonse, a boy whose soul was sealed within a metal suit of armor.

"I'm supposed to escort the Fuhrer to Rizembool," Ed said with his usual arrogant attitude. "I'm to give him a personal tour since it's my hometown."

"He's probably still in his room. Are you supposed to get here before the rooster calls, or are you just an early-riser?"

"Oh, yay. I get to start off my day with a nice glass of sarcasm from none other than the Flame Alchemist!" retorted Ed, his anger rising rapidly. A vein was already pulsing on his forehead.

"That's okay!" interrupted Al quickly, the peacemaker of the Elric duo. "We can just wait for him."

"No!" Ed bellowed. "I'm going to go get him right now! I'm not waiting around for anybody! Not even the Fuhrer!"

Roy's heart began to pound in his chest. It was the moment of unearthing. The crime would be broadcast all over Central, thanks to the big-mouthed Edward Elric. He decided to wait until the body was found, then play the innocent bystander. It was bound to work.

Ed had raced out of the room, but Al stayed behind.

"Oh, Brother…" sighed Al. He looked over at Mustang, who didn't seem to notice he'd stayed behind.

"Um, Mr. Mustang?" began Al tentatively. "You look really tired. Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Roy exclaimed, startled. His eyes landed on the armor.

"Me?" he asked. "Yeah, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Hard night?" asked Al.

"You could say that…"

Silence fell between the two. Roy began to grow impatient. Where were Ed's shouts of shock? His heart was racing, and sweat started running down his forhead.

"Oh, my God!"

There it was. Time to act.

Ed came running into the office.

"He's dead! He's been shot! The Fuhrer is dead!"

"What?" cried Alphonse.

"What are you talking about?" asked Roy urgently.

"Come and see!" shouted Edward.

The three rushed down the corridors and came to a screeching halt in the quarters of King Bradley.

There it was all over again. The bloodstained sheets, the sprawled body. The same scene that had just last night driven the Flame Alchemist mad.

"We have to call the doctor!" came Al's panicked cry.

"No! The police!" exclaimed Ed.

"We can't call either of them," explained Roy, putting on a show of shocked disbelief. "Go downstairs and get security. They'll know how to handle this."

Both Elric brothers fled the room to obey Roy's request. Mustang went next door to search for the soldier that was being framed for his sin.

There he was, lying with the gun resting on the pillow. Roy shook him awake.

"Wh…what?" moaned the sleepy cadet, who rubbed his eyes sluggishly.

"You committed murder last night," Roy accused.

"No! No I didn't! Why do you say that?"

"The Fuhrer Bradley was found shot in his room next door, and you have been discovered with the weapon."

"Me? I couldn't have been. I was drinking last night and passed out before midnight. It can't be me."

His argument was too solid to be believed. The authorities would know that it wasn't the cadet. He had to take action immediately or he could be found out.

Without any more hesitation, Mustang grabbed the gun and aimed it at the man's head.

"Wait! Stop!" pleaded the soldier, scrambling up against the wall beside his bunk. "It wasn't my fault! I swear!"

"I believe you," whispered Roy, so that it was hardly audible. And with that being said, he pulled the trigger. The man fell dead on the sheets, blood spattered on the wall and bed. The gunshot aroused the rest of the drunken soldiers in the barracks. Roy quickly turned and left the room, leaving the gun on the floor.

* * *

Roy Mustang waited outside of the Fuhrer's room, his head bent toward the floor. Another murder lay on his soul. But he had no choice. It had to be done.

Ed and Al flew into the hallway, followed by a few guards of Central's security. Armstrong was also with them, followed by Riza. She glanced at Mustang, who met her eyes. They quickly looked away and did not dare steal another glance.

"Do you know who did it?" asked Armstrong.

"Yes," Mustang replied quietly.

"You do?" asked Edward loudly. "Well, who was it?"

"A cadet in the next room," explained Roy calmly. "You can see for yourself."

The group traveled into the barracks, where the soldiers were in a frenzy at the sight of the dead body.

"He's dead!" cried Alphonse, pointing at the bed.

"And here's the murder weapon," said Edward, crossing over and picking up the handgun. "There's blood all over it."

"If he killed the Fuhrer, then who killed him?" Riza asked, afraid of finding out the answer.

"It was me," replied Roy.

Everyone turned to stare at Mustang, who had just admitted to murder.

"But why?" shrieked Riza, her voice losing control.

"Because," he began, "because I went mad at the sight of Bradley's bloody clothes. I woke him and asked him if he'd committed the murder, and he said he did. In a fury I killed him to avenge the death of King Bradley."

The group was silent. All eyes rested on the Flame Alchemist, who avoided everyone's gaze.

At that moment, the shouts of Russell and Fletcher Tringham penetrated the sharp tension in the room. They ran back to find Fletcher crying over the body of the Fuhrer, who had taken him in when no one else would. Russell stood frozen in the doorway, watching the corpse with wide eyes.

"It will be alright, boys," Armstrong said comfortingly, putting an arm on Russell's shoulder. Alphonse rushed over to pull Fletcher away from the Fuhrer's body and console him.

* * *

The funeral was very elegant and well-attended. People all over the nation came to pay their last respects to their beloved leader. It was held in the military's cemetery, where many brave soldiers had died defending their country. It was a very high honor to be laid to rest here. Whispers haunted the ceremony. People discussed nonstop about the mysterious assassination, as well as the next Fuhrer, which was to be the young and inexperienced Russell Tringham.

"We can't stay here," Russell whispered to his little brother.

"Why not?" asked Fletcher, looking up to him with tearstained cheeks.

"I'm the next Fuhrer of the nation," explained Russell. "There might be more of those assassins out there waiting to get their hands on us. I will not let them harm you."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Fletcher questioned, fear overcoming his expression.

"We'll flee the country," he replied. "We should split up. They'll be mostly looking for me, so you will be safer that way."

* * *

Night had fallen in Rizembool. The sky was clear; the stars glistened softly and the moon shone with radiance, lighting up the town with its brilliance. Three figures sat on the front porch of the Rockbell home, talking in hushed tones.

"The Tringham brothers fled Central, and they can't be found," said Edward Elric.

"Really? Sounds like those poor boys were scared by the murder," Pinako said, a pipe in her mouth.

"Yeah, I suppose you can't blame them," Armstrong replied. "However, there are rumors around Central that they fled because they were the killers."

"So nobody knows about what Mustang did to the suspect," Ed grumbled through clenched teeth. His hands gripped to form fists in his pockets.

"If they're gone, then who will become the next Fuhrer?" asked Pinako.

"Well, technically one of the generals would be chosen by Parliament," began Armstrong. "However, Colonel Mustang was for some reason chosen to become the next Fuhrer."

"Has he been named yet?" Pinako questioned.

"No, the crowning is tomorrow evening. I'm leaving in the morning to go watch the ceremony at Central. Will you be coming as well, Edward?"

"No, I don't think so," answered Ed quietly. "I cannot support someone like him. Especially when I suspect foul play on his part."

"So you think he's the true murderer of Bradley?" Pinako inquired, her eyebrows raised.

"Maybe. But who can be sure since he killed the suspect before we could talk to him."

"Edward," Armstrong interjected warningly. "I wouldn't go around advertising those suspicions if I were you. Those sorts of accusations could get you put on trial or even sentenced to death."

"But I have to do something. I'm going to infiltrate the military and try to get some of them on my side. The rumors about Mustang and his killings have at least reached them. Perhaps I can get them to help me overthrow him."

"Be careful, Ed," Pinako advised.

"She's right," agreed Armstrong. "I wish you luck on your mission, but what you are doing is treason."

"I'll watch my back. It's worth it to see Mustang taken down once and for all."


	3. Act III

Roy Mustang: A Modern MacBeth

By Mayumi Takanashi

Act III

Maes Hughes sat pensively at his desk, his feet on top of his paperwork and his weight pushing his chair backwards. His arms were stretched behind his neck, his head bent to the floor.

"_Well, congratulations, buddy,"_ he thought to himself. "_You've made it to the top. Just like those people said you would. First you were promoted two ranks to Colonel, and then you suddenly jumped up to become the Fuhrer. You've got what you've always wanted."_

He sat up straight, his chair creaking back into place. Placing his elbows on the desk, he folded his hands and rested his head against his fists.

"_But did you get there without foul play? You wanted this so badly, but you would never hurt innocent people for any reason, including you're deepest dream. I've known you for so long, Roy, and I know you're a good guy. Up until now…"_

The telephone pierced his thoughts with a high-pitched _rrring!_

"Maes Hughes here."

"Sir? You're presence is requested by Fuhrer King Mustang."

"Right now?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up the phone with a deep sigh.

"_But then there's that last part of the prophecy,"_ he continued to ponder. "_My offspring will become your successors? But I fear that you will not give up your power so easily. At what cost will Elysia become the Fuhrer?"_

* * *

A knock sounded at the entry of King Mustang's study. With a loud groan of the doors Hughes crossed into the grandeur of Roy's new office. The carpet was a rich scarlet, along with lines of bookshelves on every wall. A drinking cabinet on the side was opened, and in the center of the room sat Roy and Hawkeye on a couch enjoying glasses of red wine. Also joining them were Armstrong, Havoc, Fuery, Braeda, and Falman, all settled on couches around a crackling fireplace. The atmosphere was calm and friendly.

"Ah, here is our guest of honor!" cried Mustang joyfully. "Come join us for a drink will you?"

Without a word Hughes took a seat on an empty couch. When offered a drink by Armstrong, he denied it.

"I hear you are traveling out of town this afternoon," said Roy.

"Yes, I am," replied Maes quietly.

"Are you taking your daughter, Elysia, along with you?"

"Of course, sir."

"I hope you will be back in time for the banquet tonight," Roy stated with a hopeful countenance.

"I wouldn't miss it, King Mustang," Maes said shortly. "If you'll excuse me, I must be on my way."

"Of course, old friend," Roy answered, his expression changed to one of questioning suspicion. "I hope to see you this evening."

Hughes stood and bowed, then left the room. Roy watched him leave carefully.

Riza glanced sideways at Roy, who turned back to her with concerned eyes.

"Sir, there are two visitors waiting for you downstairs," announced a servant who had just entered the room.

"Send them up," Mustang declared.

As the servant left, he turned to his group of guests.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to speak to my visitors alone, if you would be so kind. It was pleasant spending time with you. I look forward to tonight's banquet."

The group stood and bowed in the same manner as Hughes. They left the room. Riza stayed on the couch next to Roy.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Leave me," he whispered. "Just forget about it."

"Roy, what are you planning?" Riza inquired, panic in her tone.

"Not now!" he replied urgently. "Go!"

She sat frozen momentarily. Her face was etched with anxiety, and her eyes shone with injured feelings. Slowly she rose to her feet. With one last look to Mustang, she turned and crossed out of the study.

Mustang sighed and leaned back into his couch. He let his head rest on the cushion and felt his eyes fall closed. What he was about to do was even worse than killing Bradley. This time would be the most painful sin he would ever have to commit. But he had made up his mind; there was no other choice than this. No turning back. He could not allow himself to think of regret or guilt. This was his last option.

The sound of closing doors was heard by Mustang, and he immediately went back into alert. He turned his head to see two figures standing near the entryway.

"Come sit down," he said wearily. They did.

"So, you two, I'm glad we could talk again."

His eyes scanned the two. One was large and bulky. He wore a mask like a skeleton's face, and his eyes shone through with a look of hunger and excitement. The other was a slender, blond woman, who also wore a black leather mask and outfit.

"Barry the Chopper and Clara, is it? Welcome."

"I believe you still want to hire us, it that correct?" asked Clara, very business-like.

"Yes. You see, there is someone that suspects me of murder, and you can imagine why I would not like that to get around."

"Ha! So you squash this rumor of murder with another murder. I love it!" Barry cackled maniacally, sending a shiver down Mustang's spine. His body felt icy at the thought of what was just said.

"I suppose you could put it that way. But if this were to get out, this whole nation could be put into ruin, so I really need this done quickly and efficiently. You'll be paid a large sum upfront, and then afterwards I can pay you the rest. I ask that you keep this whole situation quiet, and also to take care of them away from Central."

"Wait, what do you mean by _them_?" Clara interrupted.

"Ah, well, I need to take care of the man called Maes Hughes, as well as his daughter, Elysia."

"How old is the daughter?" asked Clara.

"I believe she is about four or five at the present time," said Mustang thoughtfully. "But why does it matter?"

"Oh, I'm just gathering facts," said Clara quickly, but she had a disturbed look in her face.

"This is just so amusing to me, if you'll forgive me, Fuhrer," laughed Barry. "I mean, this whole thing is so ironic, especially since it is a well-known fact that he is your closest friend!"

"Just do as I ask if you want that money," Mustang snapped, growing impatient with his unserious manner.

"We'll do it tonight, my lord," Clara said, standing up to leave. "You will not be disappointed."

Barry also stood up to leave. Mustang pulled out a bag from a drawer in the coffee table and tossed it to Clara. It jingled with the sound of solid gold coins.

"Thank you, King Mustang," she said. The two murderers left the room.

"Goodbye, friend," he whispered. Again, he took another sip of red wine.

* * *

Fuhrer Roy Mustang snapped his fingers, igniting a fire in the hearth. He recalled a time when he was known as the great Flame Alchemist. Mustang gazed into the crackling fireplace, flames licking the wood and engulfing the logs. His arm rested on the mantle, his forehead bent downwards toward the dancing blaze. A door creaked open and closed behind him, but he did not stir.

"Sir," came the delicate voice of Riza Hawkeye, "it's almost time for the banquet to begin."

"You know, Riza, I envy the dead," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the fire.

"How's that?"

"They sleep in peace, without worry or fear. They have nothing. Yet I have everything, but I live in constant fear of losing it. Incessant paranoia looms over me, with a deep terror of being discovered and losing it all. All that I've worked for."

Hawkeye crossed over to the window and looked out into the foggy night. A graveyard was dimly illuminated by a flickering streetlamp below.

"But do not fear, Riza," continued Mustang, a new confidence rising in his voice. He turned away from the fire to face her, but his own flames gleamed in his eyes. An intensity he'd never expressed before burst through his tranquility, and an odd excitement filled his being.

"Tonight. Tonight it will all end. All of our worries and problems. We will be the living dead. We will no longer fear of losing it all. A terrible act will be committed tonight, but we will no longer have to live in terror!"

* * *

The two murderers, Barry and Clara, crouched in the bushes along a solitary forest path. This was where their victims would pass any minute. Now all they had to do was wait, and the moon would expose their target.

"Good evening," came the quiet voice of a woman. Both whipped around to meet the mysterious figure face to face. Her raven hair was cut short, and her narrow eyes held a deep knowledge that seemed to surpass this world. She too dressed in dark clothing to blend in with the night.

"Who are you?" demanded Clara.

"I am Lyra, the third companion to this party."

"Who sent you?" Clara interrogated further.

"Why, the Fuhrer himself, of course," she chuckled delicately. "I am the third murderer tonight."

Clara looked her over with suspicion, but there was nothing she could do.

"Fine, but don't get in my way," she retorted, turning back to her post by the road, her eyes and mind alert.

"Ooh, they're coming," Barry whispered maniacally, his eyes shining with more ferocity than ever from behind his mask.

A tall man with dark hair and a pair of glasses appeared down the road, carrying a little blond girl on his back.

"Daddy's sorry the car broke down, Elysia," came the voice of Maes Hughes in the darkness. His tone was that of a compassionate, gentle father. Clara felt a pang in her heart at what she was about to do. Lyra smirked.

"Don't worry, I will handle this. It is a job that you can't perform with worthless emotions like yours."

The father and daughter came up to their position in the bushes, unaware of the events about to take place.

Barry the Chopper was the first to leap out from their hiding spot. His sword plunged into Hughes's leg, who let out a cry of agony. He and Elysia fell to the ground as Barry stood towering over them, his massive form casting a looming shadow over the two of them. Lyra stepped calmly out from the bushes, but Clara was frozen in place, unable to reveal herself.

"Run…Elysia!" shouted Hughes. She got up and tried to run, but Barry raised his sword over his head and blocked her path. As he staggered with his sword, Elysia found the chance to slip by him and disappeared into the dark forest. Hughes struggled to reach his gun.

Lyra put her hands next to her chest where a necklace charm hung. She bowed her head, and the charm began to glow. A smirk appeared on her face as a flash of light pierced through the forest night. The murder of Maes Hughes was complete.

Clara managed to find the strength to step out of the bushes. She stared down at the limp body on the forest path.

"The child got away," Clara said.

"Leave her," Lyra replied spitefully. "We won't tell the Fuhrer. He won't know the difference. We'll just take the money and go."

"Aww…I was so looking forward to killing the girl," Barry groaned, with great disappointment in his tone.

* * *

The Banquet Hall was magnificently decorated. A long table was lit with glowing candlesticks and elaborate chandeliers above. The dinnerware was made of china, and the tablecloth was of a fine fabric. Pillars rose to the ceiling all around the hall, completing its highly sophisticated ambiance.

At the end of the hall a great pair of doors opened to reveal Fuhrer Mustang, followed by Riza Hawkeye, both in military uniform. A silence fell over the hall as the great Roy Mustang entered, with a commanding and authoritative demeanor. It put the guests at ease to know that they were under the leadership of such a strong man, while at the same time it stirred a sense of uneasiness deep down inside.

The Fuhrer approached the end of the table and spread his arms to his guests.

"Welcome, friends," he called out warmly. "Tonight we celebrate all that we have accomplished thus far. To a better nation!"

"Hear, hear!" cried the guests in response. They all took their seats.

A figure crept in the shadow of the pillar nearest the Fuhrer's seat. It caught Mustang's eye, and as conversations struck up around the table he took his opportunity to leave. Riza's gaze followed his every step.

"What is your report?" he asked the shadow figure.

As she stepped out of the shadow, she appeared to be none other than Clara, the first murderer he had hired earlier.

"Maes Hughes was killed with ease, however, I regret to inform you that…"

Her voice trailed off, hesitation dictating her words. Should she listen to Lyra's advice and take the money? But what if he found out later what had transpired at the murder scene?

"I'm waiting," he whispered impatiently. "I have a party to attend to."

"Right, sir. Well, you see, the girl escaped. It was all that large oaf's fault though…"

"What?"

Clara fell silent. Roy's eyes bore into hers, searching for further explanation. He seemed to be planning, thinking carefully.

"No matter. I will take care of her later. Your payment will reach you tomorrow by one of my messengers."

He turned swiftly and crept back to the table unnoticed. Clara starred after him in amazement. She thought for sure that she would have received a brutal punishment. As her gaze twisted away from the Fuhrer, she saw the one Riza Hawkeye meet her eyes. Quickly she spun back around and left the Banquet Hall. Riza's eyes narrowed after her.

Mustang's watch went over each guest, but he dared not linger on one too long, for he seemed to be examining their inner thoughts and feelings. He seemed to be trying to find their weaknesses, and he seemed to want a traitor to be found. Perhaps then he could stop worrying that a betrayer was in their midst, secretly biding his time until the right moment to strike out…

His eyes fell upon the last spot at the table, where Hughes' place had been set. However, he would not come tonight, nor ever.

But Maes Hughes entered and took his seat. His pale form looked slowly around at Roy, his eyes on fire with revenge and fury.

"But you're supposed to be _dead_!" came Roy's cry. The last word hovered in the hall as its echo pierced the ringing silence.

"Sir, what's wrong?" whispered Riza, her eyes wide and staring at Mustang.

"Get out! You should be dead!" he cried again.

Maes smiled slowly, his eyes alight with a fiery passion.

"Sir, who are you talking to?" asked Riza wondrously.

"Do you not see him? He's sitting right there!" His finger pointed to Hughes's chair.

"Who is?"

"Leave me in peace! Leave me in peace!" he continued to roar. "You have no place in this world any longer!"

At this point Riza stood and faced the guests.

"The Fuhrer has been suffering from a severe illness for the past few days. Perhaps we should postpone our feast until a later date. Thank you for your attendance."

The guests sat frozen as a sweat broke out on Mustang's face, his cheeks burning in fury. He raised up his arm and extended it toward Hughes. His white glove was visible, its alchemic design shown to everyone at the table. A transmutation circle of fire which Roy was once known for adorned the back of the fabric. His fingers immediately went into a snapping position, ready to set off fire at any moment.

Hughes got up and moved to the other empty seat at the table, where Edward Elric should have been sitting had he attended. Maes again looked to Mustang, whose expression changed to one of concern.

"Are you trying to warn me? Are you? Even from beyond the grave you're still watching my back, old pal. Your message is not in vain."

"Goodnight," Riza called out to the guests. She placed a hand on Mustang's shoulder, forcing his extended arm down, and she led him quickly from the Banquet Hall.

They stood in Mustang's chambers, where Riza guided him to his bed. She sat down in the armchair next to him. He did not lie down but sat pensively at the edge of the bed, his chin resting on fists.

"Sir, what was that all about just then?"

"Hughes. He warned me to look out for Edward Elric."

"What? How do you mean?"

"Why did he not come tonight? I think he may be the betrayer I've been searching for." He seemed to be in a conversation with himself.

Riza sat in awed silence, pondering his words.

"It can't be…"

"Well, Hawkeye, I think he's planning something diabolical. We may need to shed more blood to be safe."

"Why not speak to those people you met in the forest, you know, the ones that can foresee the future?"

"You know, that doesn't sound like a bad idea. They can tell me what I should do next. But I think they will tell me the same thing too. More blood."

* * *

Lust sat on the window sill in a small room overlooking a village. She looked out yearningly at the nature below, wanting with all her heart to be a part of it. To be natural.

"Hey, Lust, she's here," said Envy quietly. Lust looked around. Moments later, the door opened to reveal another one of the Homunculi.

"Good evening, everyone," came her silky voice, laced with wickedness.

"Hello, Sloth," replied Lust, her tone not too happy to see her.

"I see you've been having fun with Roy Mustang. And why have you left me out of it all?"

"Didn't think you'd be interested," Envy said smartly.

"You didn't think I'd want to be involved with the murderer of Bradley? How very wrong you are, Envy. In fact, I've come to give you a heads up. Mustang himself is coming tomorrow to see you. He's at a loss at what to do next. That's why you'll lead him to his own downfall. Mustang can't do anything for himself, so you'll show him the right path. Soon he'll be out of the way."

* * *

Louis Armstrong and Jean Havoc sat in a coffee shop at the edge of Central. It wasn't a very popular place, so there wasn't anyone in the shop. They spoke in low voices to avoid the earshot of the cashier. They finally felt safe to speak of the night's events concerning Fuhrer Roy Mustang.

"He has a guilty conscience," said Havoc, his eyes narrowed.

"Which means he's hiding a dark sin," replied Armstrong with equal concern.

"So do you believe all that bullshit he's been feeding us?"

"No, I don't think I do. But I hate admitting it."

"You know what I think?" continued Havoc, "I think he's the one that's responsible for all the murders of the higher ups. In fact, I'd bet my life on that."

"Well, Edward Elric has gone to Eastern Headquarters to begin a resistance. There are rumors that Russell Tringham is there as well. But they're just rumors."

"Good for Ed. If anyone has a chance of stopping all this chaos, it's him."

"I hope he can succeed." Armstrong gazed out the window into the dark night, lost in thought and worry. What would happen next? The future seemed so unclear for all. But one thing could be certain: a battle between the two greatest alchemists of their time would inevitably occur.


	4. Act IV

Roy Mustang: A Modern MacBeth

By Mayumi Takanashi

Act IV

Gluttony stood watch at the window carefully, holding the torn curtains back to gain a better view. The three Homunculi were stationed at the edge of the Central in an abandoned apartment, but they had a clear view of the wide street that led to the heart of the town. As the sight of a dark figure whisked up the sidewalk, an insatiable hunger grew deep inside of his stomach.

"Ooh, Lust, he's coming!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Do I get to eat him now?"

"No, Gluttony," she replied coolly. "Did you not listen to a word Sloth said last night?"

His face fell in disappointment. Minutes later, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Well, go let our guest in, Gluttony," Lust scolded him impatiently.

The creature scrambled across the room toward the door, where he allowed Roy Mustang to enter. He had on a long, black cloak, and he entered the apartment swiftly and without invitation.

"Welcome, Fuhrer," smirked Envy, who came out from the next room with a sense of superiority. They now had the Fuhrer himself coming to _them_ for help.

"I need some information," Mustang said urgently. "I believe that there are traitors in my mist that intend to seek my downfall."

"Well, well," Lust spoke quietly, a sneer crossing her dark lips. "The great Fuhrer has been caught in a little predicament, hasn't he?"

"Look," he replied edgily, "I don't have the time for your games. This must be taken care of swiftly and efficiently. Just tell me what I need to know to keep a step ahead of everyone else."

"Hey," Envy shot, "we aren't required to help you, so you better be on your best behavior!"

"Calm down, Envy," sighed Lust. "Let's just be nice and tell him what he wants to hear."

"Fine," Envy said. "But you do it, Lust."

Envy crossed over to the worn sofa and sat down on it. Gluttony remained in the corner by the door, looking nervously at the scene. However, Lust did not seem affected by the tension in the room. She slowly made her way toward Mustang, a smirk on her deep scarlet lips. Only inches away from his face, Lust began to speak in her sultry, smooth voice. She pulled his chin toward her and spoke into his ear.

"That boy, Edward Elric, is said to have great power. They say he alone is your rival when it comes to alchemic skill and technique. The Fullmetal Alchemist, they call him. You must keep your eye on that boy, for he seeks your demise." Lust let out a soft chuckle. "However, you need only worry about he that was not born from a woman's womb. Only this man you need to fear." She lingered next to his cheek for a second longer, and then she drew away to the table. The other two Homunculi also allowed themselves a low laugh. But Roy Mustang only sat pensively, reflecting internally on her words of warning.

"_But there is no such man that was not born from a woman," _he thought to himself. "_So if that is the case, then there is no such opponent that can successfully bring my end! I am truly all-powerful! I do not have a worthy opponent!"_

"Hey, Fuhrer!" interrupted Envy. Roy was jerked from his thoughts, but a feeling of security and relief washed over him.

"I have another warning for you," Envy continued. "You don't need to start worrying until the Eastern Forest comes here to Central. So don't get your underwear in a bunch over this whole thing until that happens."

"But trees can't walk," Roy said in confusion.

"Well, then I suppose you'll be fine," Envy replied casually.

"Why are you telling me these things," asked Roy slowly.

"You're the one who asked," Envy snorted.

"No, I mean, why can't you just tell me nothing can happen to me? You clearly have said that it is impossible for a traitor to get me, so why haven't you just come out and stated it without riddles?"

Lust and Envy again let out a soft snigger, which Roy started to feel very uncomfortable with.

"Wait," whispered Gluttony. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to the round creature in the corner's shadow. "I have something to tell you, too."

"Yes?" Roy asked impatiently.

"We already told you, but you forgot. The kids of that man that was with you in the forest are gonna be the leaders when you're gone."

"Do you mean Maes Hughes? His children will be my successors?"

Gluttony shrunk back into the corner at Roy's harsh tone. Mustang turned to the other two.

"He's telling the truth," Envy said offhandedly.

"Envy, it's time to leave," Lust interrupted, looking up at the dusty wall clock. "She's waiting for us."

"Who?" demanded Roy.

"None of your business," retorted Envy in irritation. "Fine, let's go."

Without another word, the three Homunculi filed out of the room, leaving Mustang alone to his mixed thoughts.

* * *

Armstrong entered the office of the Fuhrer, his stomach in knots. He had come to tell Mustang horrible news, and he wasn't sure how he would take it. It was common knowledge that Mustang no longer kept his unperturbed and relaxed demeanor. Instead, he became unpredictable, and was often subject to random fits of temper. Many feared for his sanity, and suspicions of foul play were in the hearts of the citizens.

"Come on in, Major," called Mustang from his desk, his expression one of gentility and warmth.

Armstrong slowly crossed over to the oak desk, where Mustang sat with a glass of red wine in his hand. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, but the Major preferred to stand and did not take the seat. Roy raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"What's this about?" he asked curiously.

"Sir, I'm not sure how I should put this, so I'm just going to come out and say it." Armstrong took a deep breath and sighed. "It seems that Edward Elric has fled Central. He's at Eastern Headquarters as we speak."

Armstrong stopped. He wondered if he should continue with the rest of the information he had. Should he mention he's a traitor planning an uprising, and the fact that the Tringham boy was there as well? Perhaps not, for he did not want to come off seeming as if he knew too much…

"Well, well, well," whispered Mustang. He recalled Lust's warning to keep a watchful eye on Elric. But there was no chance of his success, but he needed to handle this. Make an example of him.

"You remember the hometown of the Elrics?"

"Rizembool, sir?" asked Armstrong.

"That's the one. I want you to order the execution of Winry Rockbell and Alphonse Elric."

"What?" cried Armstrong. Mustang's eyes flashed toward him. Armstrong collected his composure. "I mean to say, if it isn't too bold, sir, why they need to be punished for Ed's crimes?"

"You're right. You are speaking too boldly. But I will let you in, even if it isn't your business."

Armstrong was taken aback at Roy's coldness towards him. He remembered the camaraderie they used to share together, but ever since the Rebellion he had drifted farther away. Roy Mustang was too different to ever go back to how things used to be. An overwhelming sadness overcame the Major. So it was true what they whispered about in the halls of Central Headquarters; the Flame Alchemist really had lost his mind in Ishbal. This paranoiac, irrational behavior was not in Mustang's nature, but he suddenly had an obsession with uncovering a traitor, and he would not rest until he felt that they were all exterminated.

"You see, we have to make Ed come out of hiding. By killing those closest to him, we can perhaps draw him out and force him to confess. Then the rest of the country will be too afraid of causing a rebellion, and we can put our fears to sleep."

"_Listen to yourself_," thought Armstrong. "_You've become a tyrant, with your own downfall made inevitable from your own misgivings. You poor man_."

"Give the order immediately," Mustang demanded, turning in his leather chair to face the window and taking another sip of wine.

"Yes, sir," choked Armstrong, taking a bow.

"Oh, and one more thing," called Mustang, who did not turn to face him again. "I trust you know how to exterminate Al? The blood seal that attaches his soul to armor?"

"I have it under control."

He turned and exited the office. As he closed the door, he struggled to suppress a tear.

"_So cruel_…"

Unbeknownst to Mustang or Armstrong, Riza Hawkeye had been listening at the door before Armstrong had emerged.

* * *

"So, Al, how does it feel to be back home?" asked Winry Rockbell, entering the living room where Alphonse Elric was sitting. He glanced out at the green hills beyond the windowpane, and at the trees that danced with the breeze. The sky was a clear azure and the rays of sunlight shone down upon the whole town. The countryside was the place they had all grown up: Ed, Al, and Winry. It was also the place where their mother's grave was located. It was the place where he and his brother had attempted to bring their mother back using forbidden alchemy; where Ed had lost his limbs to the mysterious Gateway, and where Al had lost his body. Now his soul was sealed in blood to a suit of armor. So many memories that lay with Rizembool.

"It's good to be back," replied Alphonse reminiscently.

"Any news from Ed?" asked Winry, glancing down into her lap. Although she had tried, she could not disguise her worry from Al.

"No. But I'm hoping he can successfully organize the rebellion. Mustang has really changed."

Winry's deep-seated hatred for Mustang rose up inside of her. He was the man that had executed the murder of two doctors that had helped the enemy Ishbalans back to health. Those doctors were her parents.

"But I found out that Russell Tringham is there with Brother at Eastern Headquarters! So that's good news, right?"

Winry snapped back up, forcing a smile on her face.

"Of course! He's the previous heir to the position of Fuhrer?"

"Yeah."

A silence fell over the two. Each was lost in their own worry for Ed and for his chances of success against the dictator Roy Mustang.

Al began to laugh, one that echoed throughout his armor.

"What's your deal?" asked Winry in bafflement.

"I just thought about how Brother's been labeled a traitor. But he never really believed he was ever loyal to the Military. So is he actually a traitor if he was never part of them in the first place?"

"But he is a State Alchemist. So he is a part of them."

"I suppose you're right," Al replied, finally controlling his laughter.

"How is that funny? I don't get it."

"I just think Brother would have found it amusing to be called a traitor to the Military, since he never liked it."

Winry also let out a half-chuckle at the thought.

"They say Mr. Mustang has lost his mind," Al said, this time with a somber attitude.

"I would believe that after all the things I've heard he's done," Winry replied, thinking of all the hushed conversations she overheard Ed taking part in. All the crimes that were suspected of Mustang…

An urgent knocking sounded at the door. Winry got up to answer it.

"Maybe Grandma is back from the market. But why would she knock?"

Al got up and followed her to the threshold, where Clara stood breathless.

"Clara!" cried Al. "What's wrong?"

"You two must run!" she said quickly. "The Fuhrer has ordered your assassination as punishment for Edward's betrayal!"

"Oh, God!" cried Winry. "We have to hurry!"

"Clara, will you be alright?" asked Al concernedly.

"Don't worry about me; I am heading North right now."

"And we need to get out of here too!" Winry exclaimed. Clara hurried off as Winry slammed the door hurriedly. "We'll go out the back way."

The two scrambled down the hall to the door. This would take them into the forest, which would give them cover from their hunters. Winry reached the exit first and threw open the door.

Barry the Chopper stood in the doorframe, his bulky form blocking their path. His eyes glowed with hunger through his mask, and he let out a ringing, maniacal laughter that pierced the air. He thrust his spear in front of him with an exclamation of victory. Winry fell to the ground, her clothes stained with her own blood.

"WINRY!" cried out Al in anguish. "YOU WILL PAY!"

Al rushed at Barry in a blind rage, unable to see his target in his agony. He raised his fists into the air, but he swung wildly and without aim.

Barry used his bloodied spear to knock off Al's helmet, which rolled off the porch and into the tall grass. Unable to see the fight above him on the deck, he hoped his body could pull out a defeat.

Suddenly everything went black.

Barry laughed out in glorious triumph as he stabbed the blood seal on the inside of the armor. The transmutation circle made in blood so many years ago by the Fullmetal Alchemist himself was broken. Alphonse Elric existed no more, his soul lost forever.

* * *

Edward Elric sat with Russell Tringham in a private conference room at Eastern Headquarters. The military strategy had been developing slowly, but recent whispers of Mustang's tyranny and madness forced many to question their loyalties. They now had complete control of the Eastern army, one of the most formidable units in the country.

"Alright, now let's talk weaponry," continued Russell. However, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," called Ed, without taking his eyes off of the file in front of him.

It was Jean Havoc, with his usual laid-back expression and wide grin on his face.

"Hey!" greeted Edward excitedly. "How's it going?"  
"Oh, you know, the usual," Havoc replied casually.

"What news from Central?" asked Ed with a more serious tone.

"Well…" the expression on his face changed to one of deep sorrow and somberness. "Ed, I have some really bad news for you, so you may want to sit down."

"What's wrong?" Ed became very panicked, but Russell reached up to pull him down into his seat.

Havoc leaned against the table and lit up a cigarette. He seemed very hesitant to reveal what terrible secret he had to share.

"Mustang's definitely lost it. I mean, this guy has to be stopped at all costs. He's killing without a second thought, which is so unlike the man I used to know."

"What's he done this time?" demanded Ed, the dread rising within him.

Havoc exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Edward, I'm so sorry. Your friend, Winry, and Alphonse have been killed."

"What?" Ed asked, not seeming to understand what was just said. Russell clenched his fist and stared hard down at the table, grief filling him up.

"Ed, I'm sorry."

Edward just kept staring at Havoc, unable to comprehend what had just been spoken. The air was thick with feelings of intense sorrow and grief, and it was sinking into every inch of Ed.

"No…no…it's not possible…" Ed whispered. "It can't be…no…"

Havoc let out another puff of smoke. Russell buried his head into his hands.

Edward gripped the table tightly, searching for some sort of support. But he couldn't find it. He felt dizzy, and he couldn't see anything through his tear-filled eyes. He sank to the floor, still gripping the table.

"No…"

From that day on, a renewed fervor to stop the Fuhrer Roy Mustang was instilled in each soldier at Eastern Headquarters. The news of his senseless slaughter of the innocent struck a chord within everyone, and an urge to stop the tyranny was at the core of each individual. The oncoming war was brewing.


	5. Act V

Roy Mustang: A Modern MacBeth

By Mayumi Takanashi

Act V

Dr. Tim Marcoh entered Central Headquarters, where the air was thick with anxiety. The Eastern army was approaching, and preparations for battle were being made. If the Fuhrer had to surrender Central, then the nation would be thrown into anarchy. The future seemed so uncertain, and the doctor had only entered at the beginning of the end.

Private Scieszka searched the frenzied crowd in the entrance hall. Her eyes, narrowed in worry, finally rested on the doctor. The man had the Ishbal War etched in every line on his old face, his graying hair making him appear much older than he actually was. Guilt from all the casualties he had caused in Ishbal had turned the Crystal Alchemist into a medical doctor. His presence at the heart of Central was due to a call about a woman who had taken to sleepwalking and revealing terrible secrets about the Fuhrer himself. Her name was Riza Hawkeye.

"Dr. Marcoh!" called Scieszka, pushing through the crowd of officers to meet him.

"Where is she?" he asked, having to raise his voice over the throng of noise.

"Follow me."

Scieszka led him out of the mass and down a clearer hallway. Shouts from around headquarters still echoed down the corridor, but there was no need to push through any mobs. The private led Marcoh in great haste to the upper levels of Central and to the great doors of the Fuhrer's bedroom. She knocked quietly and the two waited.

One of the doors creaked open to reveal a haggard Roy Mustang, who had concern written all over his countenance.

"Oh, good, you've arrived," he said, his voice hoarse from a lack of sleep. "Come in, quickly."

The two entered and were led to the large, ornate bed, where Hawkeye was resting, her eyes closed and her hair messed.

"I didn't want her out of my sight, so I've been keeping her here with me," Mustang said.

Dr. Marcoh glanced up at the Fuhrer. He knew the real reason he wanted her to stay. He didn't want the woman sleepwalking all over Central revealing his darkest secrets. Everyone knew that Hawkeye was the closest to the Fuhrer, and she was the most likely to hold all of his most confidential information. Things like that weren't meant to be spread all over the military ranks.

"Look," Mustang whispered, closing in on the doctor. "What happens in here does not leave this room. If one word of these events leaks out, you will have to answer to the consequences."

"I understand, Fuhrer. You need not worry."

He turned to the sleeping woman.

"Her complexion is ghostly white. Has she been eating?"

"No," answered Scieszka. "She refuses anything put in front of her."

"How often does her sleepwalking occur?"

"Every time she falls asleep," continued Scieszka.

"Well, in order to assess what I can do for her, I'll need to witness the sleepwalking."

"It should only be a matter of minutes," offered Scieszka. "She hasn't gotten up since she fell asleep an hour ago, and her sleeping is quite irregular. She only sleeps for a few hours at a time."

"Then we shall wait."

"Shall I bring up some tea?" asked Scieszka.

"Thank you. That would be greatly appreciated."

She turned and exited the bedroom. Marcoh and Mustang sat down at a round, wooden table, watching Riza closely.

The white sheets began to stir. A rustle of fabric was heard, and the two men sat in ringing silence. Slowly, Hawkeye rose from the bed, her white nightgown dragging on the floor. A chill took hold of Marcoh's body, for the woman looked so much like a ghost that he was meeting face to face. She began to take steps across the room, but her long skirt made her appear to be floating.

"Why?" she asked softly. Marcoh listened harder. "Why?" she asked again.

She continued gradually across the room.

"Why? Was it really worth it?"

Marcoh was sitting on the edge of his seat.

"First the Fuhrer, and then even your best friend. Was it worth it? Was it really? And even innocent Alphonse and Winry? Why? Did you truly gain what you wanted?"

Marcoh slowly rose to his feet and with extreme caution crossed over to her.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," Mustang said hastily. "Just ignore what she's saying."

The doctor ignored him and continued across toward the ghostly figure. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little red stone. Mustang was awed by the stone, which appeared to glow when reflecting the light. Marcoh held the stone firmly in his hand, then he reached out and touched it to her arm. She froze.

The stone seemed to emit energy, which absorbed into her snowy skin. Mustang stood in awe at the scene, unable to move.

Suddenly, Riza collapsed, and Marcoh reached out to catch her. He lifted her and carried her back to bed.

"What did you do to her?" demanded Mustang. He needed her more than anything. She knew all his secrets, and only she had the ability to understand him. Riza was the only person in the whole world he could trust, as well as existing as his only confidant on earth. He needed her to keep him from completely losing his mind.

"Don't worry, Fuhrer. I used this tiny rock to help her. She will sleep more soundly; however, she may still sleepwalk once in a while. But this hopefully will help her on her road to recovery. Other than that, there is nothing more I can do."

"Thank you," choked Roy Mustang, feeling what remained of his strength leave his body.

* * *

"I can feel a sense of desperation," said Scar to Edward Elric. Scar was a large Ishbalan man, with tanned skin and fierce red eyes. He, Ed, and Russell stood at the front of the large Eastern army, who was preparing for the surprise invasion of Central Headquarters. The sun was setting beyond the horizon, leaving behind vivid colors of red, yellow, pink, and a touch of green in the sky. In a few moments they would mobilize onward. For the past two days they had been traveling by night and resting throughout the day in forests along their march. Tonight they would reach Central and attack. 

"Do you?" asked Ed. "Well, that's good news for us."

"When those seven from Central joined with us, I could sense the weakness of their leader, the Flame Alchemist. He has lost most of his control. His behavior in the upcoming battle will be that of one desperately clinging to what little power he has left."

Behind them, the men were packing up their supplies, a sense of relaxation and camaraderie among the troops. Quite unlike the current atmosphere at Central Headquarters, to be sure.

"Well, we should start heading out," said Edward, and he turned to the troops. "Alright, listen up! Tonight we storm Central Headquarters and defeat the Fuhrer Roy Mustang!"

A loud cheer rang out around the camp.

"Now this is a surprise attack, and so we need to be as discreet as possible! This order I'm about to make will sound pretty strange, but trust me, it will only aid our surprise on Central!" Edward allowed a smile on his face. "I want every one of you to find a large tree branch and hold it before you as we march on to battle!"

The men turned to one another and a giant whisper rose.

"Get on it!" cried Edward. "Dismissed!"

* * *

Scieszka nervously entered the bedroom of the Fuhrer after her knock went unanswered. Creeping slowly toward Mustang's hunched figure at the side of the bed, she clutched a piece of paper tightly in her hand.

"Sir, I have an urgent message for you," she squeaked.

"What is it?" asked Roy, not looking up from the face of Riza Hawkeye.

"Some men have left to join the Eastern Army," said Scieszka uneasily. She handed him the sheet of paper. Upon it was a list of names of the traitors:

_Alex Louis Armstrong_

_Heymans_ _Breda_

_Denny Brosh_

_Vato_ _Falman_

_Kain_ _Fuery_

_Jean Havoc_

_Maria Ross_

"Thank you," murmured Mustang, his eyes scanning the list in wide-eyed frustration. Scieszka exited the bedroom quickly.

"_Why is this happening this way_?" thought Mustang. "_But I don't need to fear until what those Homunculi said comes true. And that is impossible_."

* * *

Night had fallen on Central Headquarters. Mustang sat in his office with a glass of brandy in hand, the empty bottle next to him on the desk. His military jacket was undone, revealing the white undershirt beneath. Black hair tousled. Unshaven jaw. He once had firm control over the entire nation, but now he had become a broken man. The office was dark; the only light that entered the room was from the streetlamp outside. For a brief moment it flickered, and then it went out completely.

An urgent knock sounded at the door, but Mustang did not want to answer it. However, the messenger entered in a frenzy, scrambling up to the desk where King Mustang sat.

"What is it?" moaned Roy.

"Fuhrer, the Eastern Army is here! We had kept a constant eye out for them all evening, but they snuck up on us! They came disguised as trees. We just thought it was the Eastern Forest, but they've marched here to Central Headquarters! They're storming the front gate as we speak!"

_You don't need to start worrying until the Eastern Forest__comes here to Central._

The words of Envy echoed in his mind. So it really was the end…

At that moment Scieszka rushed in, interrupting his thoughts.

"Sir, sir!" she cried. "Miss Hawkeye is dead."

"What?" croaked Roy, sitting up in his chair.

"She just killed herself, sir. While she was sleepwalking. She took a knife to her heart. Her last words were that she envied the dead, and that she could no longer be among the living. I'm so sorry, sir. We tried everything we could to stop her."

"I don't want to hear anymore…" murmured Mustang, his voice fading. He took another drink from his glass, his eyes unfocused and mind distracted and confused.

"Sir, what should we do?" cried the messenger.

"What?"

"The Eastern Army! They're here!"

Mustang lay his face down into his folded arms on the desk. Scieszka thought she could see a tear slide down his cheek.

"Um, sir, this is a matter of great urgency!" shouted the messenger.

Slowly, the Fuhrer stood from his chair, his bangs hanging low over his eyes. Buttoning up his jacket, he came out from behind the desk. His sword, which lay at the end of a coffee table, was gripped by Mustang determinedly.

"We go out to meet our fate," he answered finally.

* * *

The Eastern Army broke through the front gate, but a deluge of gunshots were being fired from the rooftop of the Headquarters. But the Eastern Army was too great in number for this to create a significant number of casualties, and the troops stormed through the great doors and entered the building. Central troops tried to fight back, but there were too many Eastern soldiers for there to be any chance of success.

A young Ishbalan by the name of Rick slipped down a corridor off to the side, a dagger in hand. His red eyes were narrowed with resolve to avenge the death of his mother, who had been killed in the Ishbal Rebellion.

As he struggled up the stairs, his eyes closed in his effort, he felt himself slam into another body. Tumbling down the steps, he crashed into the wall at the bottom and let out a cry of pain. Opening his eyes, he saw the form of the Fuhrer Roy Mustang himself quickly making his way downward.

"Out of the way, kid," he said. "You don't belong in a fight like this."

Rick stared in awe at him, but then his awe turned to anger.

"You!" he cried. "You are the one I've been hunting. You're the leader of the same military dogs that killed my mother!"

In a rage he rushed at Mustang, his dagger drawn and his voice bellowing a war cry. He aimed to stab the Fuhrer in the stomach, but he could not reach him in time. As Mustang's sword pierced his heart, Rick died instantly before he could avenge his mother.

Roy turned to continue down to the Entrance Hall, where the battle was located. However, he spun to meet the Fullmetal Alchemist face to face.

"Ed!" cried Roy incredulously.

"It's been a long time," replied Edward with his usual smirk of sarcasm. "I'm here for revenge."

"Why? Because you were a traitor to the State and had to face the consequences?"

"No! Because you've slaughtered countless innocent people, you bastard! Look at what you've become, Mustang!" He pointed to the young Rick, lying in a pool of blood. "You murder without care! You have to be stopped before more innocent lives are destroyed!"

Ed's automail arm turned into a sword, and he rushed at Mustang in fury. With a simple snap of his fingers, a ring of fire surrounded Edward.

"You think you can beat me?" cried Mustang, a loud laugh rising in the air. "I'm invincible! No man born from a woman's womb can defeat me! Were you so foolish to think that you had any chance in hell of crushing me?"

Edward jumped over the flames and came down upon Mustang, knocking him to the ground. He held his automail sword against his neck, leaving Roy gasping for air.

"I'm not born from a woman, Mustang," whispered Ed. "I was born for a second time, trying to bring my mother back. I was born from the Gateway, not from the womb of a woman. You're going down!"

Mustang's eyes widened with fear.

"It's the end, Mustang!" screamed Ed. Pulling back his arm, he thrust his sword into Roy's chest. He coughed, blood spurting from his mouth. His eyes tightened with agony, and he took his last breath.

Russell Tringham and Scar led the rest of the troops up the stairs, only to stop at the sight of Edward and Roy before them.

"The Fuhrer Roy Mustang is dead!" cried Edward.

A cheer rang throughout the corridors at Central. The only person who did not cheer was Scar, who sighted the deceased Rick lying in the corner in bloodstained clothing. He crossed over slowly to the small body and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Elric," his deep voice said. Edward crossed over to him. "Thank Ishbala that Mustang is dead. No longer must we worry about the loss of innocent life."

* * *

The town of Central was alight with a festive air. The coronation of the new Fuhrer Russell Tringham was today, and the streets were lined with citizens waiting to see their heroes.

In a series of cars, the two Tringham brothers passed first. Then came the figures of Edward Elric and Elysia Hughes; Elysia was to live with the Tringhams and perhaps even one day inherit the position of Fuhrer. Other heroes of the battle followed behind.

In the center of town, a crowd had gathered to hear speeches delivered by their heroes. Edward Elric stepped up to the podium.

"This country has experienced a dark period in its history. It was under the evil grasp of a tyrannical Fuhrer. One man, driven by the temptation of power, successfully gained that power, only to throw it away as he descended into darkness. Let this be a lesson to us all. I believe that our future is bright, and that our leaders will guide us along a path of purity. Justice has prevailed!"


End file.
